Free Sweet Surrender (Mercers of Montana Book 1) by Evelyn MacQuaid Page B

handiwork on to a side table. "I still don't see the point of this … this frippery."
    "It's a lady's job to add beauty and grace to a home. Besides, embroidery keeps idle hands busy."
    "I don't have idle hands." She shook her hands in Olivia's face. “These hands should be helping deliver a calf in the north pasture right about now."
    "Your mother asked for me to turn you from a cowhand into a lady." She tossed her head. "While we wait for our tea, we sew." Charlotte sighed and picked up her sewing.
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    J ackson stood in the doorway watching his sister calling for help to untangle her embroidery once again. Olivia sat next to her and looked on with the patience of an angel. Her hair was swept up into a perfect top knot, and he longed to loosen it and watch the curls escape. Seeing Olivia in her high-necked dress with perfect posture and demure manners made him frown.
    Was last night a dream then?
    The woman he saw was fearless, running to the aid of another without a second thought for her own safety. Then there was the bright glow of action on her rosy cheeks, the spark of triumph in her eyes, followed by the soft spreading of her lips as he kissed her.
    He knew what he had to do. He had to get her out of his mind, and no one could stop him.
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    J ackson cleared his throat and both ladies jumped. Charlotte ran to him and clung to his arm with both hands.
    "You've come to take me for a morning ride?" Her eyes pleaded her need for escape.
    He shook his head. "Sorry, kitten, I've come to say goodbye."
    Olivia's heart sang at the sight of him, but she refused to let it affect her. If Jackson Mercer was going to reject her, she wouldn't let herself feel anything for him.
    Olivia cleared her throat. "Does this have anything to do with your friend in the field?"
    Jackson set Charlotte aside and narrowed his eyes. "Who was in the field?"
    Olivia shrugged. "A thin man, dark. He didn't say much except he was your friend and he was waiting to talk with you."
    He knelt in front of her and gathered his betrothed’s hands in his. "Did he frighten you? Are you alright?"
    Olivia's chest pounded in indignation. What was this? He thought she was so frail the sight of a stranger would make her retire to her bed with the vapors? Olivia tossed a flippant hand. "Of course not. He was a very polite man…" she rolled her eyes "…unlike some."
    Jackson's smile sent a bolt of lightning from her tingling lips to the very core of her being. Olivia wanted to berate him for his misjudgment of her strength, but she felt giddy. Once again, he had cast his abhorrent spell which she could not dodge.
    "I'm sorry, Olivia." Jackson squeezed her hands and lowered his gaze. "I have some business to attend to, and I don't know when I will return to the ranch."
    Her bright blush drained away, and she searched his face for clues of what was on his mind. "You're leaving before saying goodbye to your mother?"
    Jackson nodded. "It's … it's better this way."
    He stood up and left the room without another word. She ached to heed the call of his magnetic pull, to run to the window and watch him ride away. Instead, she bit her lip, picked up her embroidery, and worked with vigor.
    For the next hour she continued on, stopping only to untangle Charlotte's work and listen to her beg for release. She worried about the work Jackson was leaving to do. With his dark looks and utter disregard for public opinion, it was easy to believe he himself was a highwayman … or worse.
    Deep inside though, Olivia knew this was not the truth. What he really did was much harder to define, but she felt a core of justice running through it the way some miners claimed they could sense gold.
    How could she prove it? If she revealed the good in him for all to see, would he stop turning away from everyone? Would it stop him running away from her?
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    C harlotte's eyes gleamed . "You love riding, Lady Olivia, I know you do." She batted her short eyelashes in earnest. "Riding is a